


Let Nothing You Dismay

by victoria_p (musesfool)



Series: let nothing you dismay [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Memory Magic, obliviate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-12-22
Updated: 2003-12-22
Packaged: 2018-10-31 19:46:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10906221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musesfool/pseuds/victoria_p
Summary: It takes Harry a while to notice that no one leaves him alone with Sirius.





	Let Nothing You Dismay

It takes Harry a while to notice that no one leaves him alone with Sirius. Over the summer, it’s not that obvious -- there are so many people in and out of the house, and so much to be done, that interruptions from Mrs. Weasley or Professor Lupin or Tonks don’t even register.

At Christmas, after their first whispered conference, Lupin or Bill or someone always interrupts them, and it’s driving Harry mad. All he wants is a few moments with his godfather, someone who understands what he’s going through and can tell him about his parents.

The night after Christmas, he sneaks down to the kitchen when everyone else is asleep, because he knows Sirius sits down there and drinks whenever Lupin goes away on Order business. He’s overheard them arguing about it, along with other things he’d rather not think about, soft, wet sounds that make his stomach flip the way it does whenever Cho is around.

Just remembering is enough to make him breathe a little harder, and he hurries into the kitchen, hoping Sirius is there, hoping he’s alone, that Lupin’s already gone wherever it is he goes for the Order.

Sirius is alone, looking both dangerous and sad in the dying light of the fire. There’s a bottle of firewhisky on the table in front of him, but his glass is half-full, untouched.

“Sirius?”

He starts, then smiles, and Harry has to swallow hard. There’s such joy in that smile, and it’s so rare to have that directed at *him*. He thinks he might do anything to have Sirius smile at him that way again.

“Hey. Couldn’t sleep?”

“No. I--I wanted to talk to you.”

“We never talk anymore.”

The way he says it strikes Harry as odd, but it’s true, they don’t talk. Not about anything that really matters, anyway. Not since those few moments in the pantry.

Sirius rises, and though Harry’s had a growth spurt, his head comes only to Sirius’s chin. Which is fine. Sirius pulls him into a tight hug and he nestles his face against Sirius’s chest, inhaling the scent of smoke, dust and firewhisky, and the damp dog odor that clings to Sirius after he’s spent time as Padfoot.

It’s one of the few hugs Harry can remember and he wishes it would last forever, that he could stay here, safe in Sirius’s arms. He’s not his father, but he’s the closest thing Harry has, and Harry wants to hold onto him and never let go.

Sirius mumbles things he can’t quite make out, but he can feel lips pressing against the top of his head, sliding along his temple, and again, he swallows hard, heart racing.

Sirius’s hands, long-fingered, elegant, creep up under his pajama top, slither against his skin. He shivers at the touch, thinking of Nagini, and his voice breaks when he asks, “Sirius?”

“Please?” Sirius’s voice, a harsh rasp after a day of singing carols and drinking whisky, rubs against his ears like sand, but Sirius’s lips are cool and smooth when they slide against his cheekbone.

One of those hands pushes past the elastic of his pajama pants, wraps around his cock. He shudders at the cool skin against his hot flesh, already hardening under the quick, skilled caress of Sirius’s fingers.

 _No, please, don’t_ , he thinks, but all he can say is, “Sirius?” in that same half-broken voice. He knows this isn’t right, but the look in Sirius’s eyes is dark and sad and faraway; maybe Sirius needs this, and Harry can’t deny him. His body is responding; he is ashamed at how good it feels, how much better than his own hands, or the images of Cho or Fleur or any of the other girls he’s fantasized about at night with his curtains drawn.

He clutches tight to Sirius’s shoulders, hips thrusting in time to Sirius’s strokes. Sirius stares down at him, and the small part of Harry’s brain that’s telling him this is wrong wonders if Sirius is even _seeing_ him, but he’s too far gone to stop now. He closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to meet that vulnerable, vacant stare, trying to lose himself in sensation.

“James,” Sirius breathes, and Harry jerks away, stomach roiling with guilt and nausea.

The door swings open. “Sirius? I’m sorry I said--" Lupin’s voice cuts through the silence, over Sirius’s harsh breathing and Harry’s whimpers. Harry turns away, trying to hide as Lupin’s eyes widen, taking in the scene.

“Oh, Harry.” Harry thinks he’ll never forget the despair in that quiet voice, and then Lupin murmurs, " _Obliviate_."

***

Harry notices they never leave him alone with Sirius, but the holidays are over before he can have the conversation he wishes for with his godfather. Lupin watches him closely, more hawk than wolf, and he smiles and pretends everything’s fine.

When Sirius pulls him aside and gives him the mirror, he promises himself he won’t use it, won’t be the one to lure Sirius from the safety of the house, though he longs for a few moments with his godfather, someone who understands what he’s going through and can tell him about his parents.

end


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